Emergency Parenting Plan Number Nine
by Queen of the Castle
Summary: The meet-the-parents doesn't go very well. Except that, in a round-about way, it kind of does. Harry/Draco


Author's Notes: For the slythindor100 advent challenge.

* * *

All right, so considering the boy's known shortcomings (and there were many, in her opinion), Narcissa hadn't precisely been expecting to arrive to find quality tea being served in fine china, accompanied by dazzling and witty conversation.

She'd been entirely prepared (if reluctant) to go without the appropriate refreshments and to suffer through the sort of uncomfortable face-off typical of a formal meeting between a parent and a desperately unsuitable possible future son-in-law. That was the way these things tended to be handled best; with an entirely transparent yet oh-so-necessary façade of politeness.

Narcissa had been certain that even the most uncultured of wizards had to have some awareness of this very basic form of etiquette. Apparently she'd been wrong.

Hot chocolate. Marshmallows, of all things. And a mug – really, a _mug_ – decorated with snowmen dancing around and around the outside in circles so excitably that she'd have grown dizzy if she could actually bear to do more than glance momentarily at the thing.

It was as if he were mocking her, though she doubted he had the intelligence to do so on purpose. Regardless, for once in her life Narcissa found herself strangely undone, for she simply wasn't in much of a position to fight back, even subtly. She had little power here, and so was forced to stoop to trying to 'get along' with someone who would once have been considered so far below her that deigning to even look down her nose at him would have practically been a compliment.

Narcissa considered simply staring, unmoving, at the offered beverage until the boy finally figured out she had no intention of touching it and took the offending item away. He was so ignorant that he probably wouldn't even register it as an insult. If she had been trapped in any other situation, she would have done exactly that.

Instead, she reached out and gingerly took the mug from Harry Potter's hands.

Potter, typically for him, didn't even look as though he cared that this move had been quite the major concession on her part. He just heavily plopped himself down across from her, with an audible whooshing sound as the air inside the couch was abruptly displaced. She might have expected to see such behaviour at a local pub, if she'd ever thought to set foot in one. Such low class manners – spawned, undoubtedly, from being Muggle-raised with a hint of Weasley influence on the side – were unbearable. She was dying to say so aloud.

Unlike Potter, though, Narcissa was more than capable of restraining herself as necessary. She needed only recall that her enforced graciousness was hardly for Potter's sake. It was all for her son.

Thankfully, she could clearly tell from the satisfied expression on Draco's face that _he_, at least, appreciated how she was making a concerted effort to play her part. She wished, however, that she hadn't just as clearly seen the way that Draco leaned back in his seat and quietly sipped his own hot chocolate without any visible trace of disdain, apparently appreciating Potter's efforts as well. That alone told her more or less everything she needed to know.

She willed Draco to suddenly stand up and announce that, actually, only joking, there was really nothing more serious between himself and Potter than an extended roll in the hay meant to sublimate years of sexual tension disguised as a schoolboy rivalry.

She'd known that couldn't be the case, though, from the moment she'd received the invitation to visit Potter's tiny little flat. Draco would never have encouraged his dear mother to spend a moment in Potter's presence unless there was good reason for it.

What a horrible reason it had turned out to be, too.

Though it could have been worse, she tried to convince herself over and over, letting it become something of a mantra. At least Potter had saved the world those few times, and that did earn him quite a lot of points, to be sure... though possibly still not quite enough to counterbalance him thinking that atrocious woollen jumper was proper attire for any kind of meet-the-parents gathering. Narcissa shuddered delicately, trying very hard not to picture the next generation of Malfoys being forced to dress up in tiny replicas of that clothing travesty, probably knitted from scratch by that odious Weasley woman.

One way or another, she had to find a way to stop _that_ from ever happening. Not to her prospective grandchildren, thank you very much. If nothing else, Draco had to agree with her on that point. Potter couldn't have swayed him that much.

Or so she hoped.

"You must come to the Manor for Christmas dinner," Narcissa said at the inevitable lull in what could barely be considered a 'conversation'. The invitation was expected in these circumstances, unfortunately, so she could hardly avoid it. She just prayed to Merlin the boy thought to wear something marginally more acceptable that day; Lucius would be violently ill all over his holiday finery at the mere sight of Potter looking like this (though perhaps that would have less to do with his apparel than his identity, she privately owned).

"We'd love to," accepted Potter, sounding too pleased by half. There was something about his inflection on the word 'we' and the way his fingers unconsciously flexed as if he were itching to reach out and clasp Draco's hand in a sign of solidarity that demonstrated quite clearly – as if Narcissa hadn't already gathered as much – just how firmly involved they were with each other.

And Draco – her beloved son who was usually so much more intelligent about these things – smiled at Potter like he'd entirely forgotten that just a few years ago the two of them might have killed each other far more readily than kissed each other, if only they were given half a chance (and that, in fact, Potter almost _had_ taken his chance at least once). No, actually, that didn't quite cover the extent of it. Rather, Draco _beamed_ at Potter as if he'd just announced the world really did revolve around him and Draco had believed every last word of it.

Well then. They were completely besotted, both of them, and obviously already beyond her powers to just make it _go away_.

Narcissa sighed – inaudibly, of course, as was only fitting – and pasted on her best polite smile. "Lucius and I will look forward to seeing you then," she lied.

There was some further half-hearted small talk about the recent poor weather, the fact that they were finally getting around to rebuilding the last of the North Tower in Hogwarts, and (to Narcissa's endless disgust) the Quidditch semi-finals. Then, finally, Narcissa was able to excuse herself for the evening without it seeming suspicious.

When she arrived back at the Manor, she and her husband shared a long look.

"It's as bad as we feared?" Lucius asked.

"Worse," Narcissa replied.

"So we should enact Emergency Parenting Plan Number Four post-haste?" Lucius asked.

Narcissa pursed her lips. "Maybe that might have worked if we'd headed this whole thing off before they'd ever realised they preferred groping each other like hormonal teenagers over brawling like jealous two-year-olds," she said. "But it's far beyond that now."

"So Number Six, then?"

"Lucius. Really. Do you really think Draco would actually believe in an empty threat to disinherit him, given everything? It's far too doubtful to risk it. Besides, Potter has enough money of his own to support them, if it should come to that. Draco knows all this, perhaps too well for his own good."

"Yes, you're right. Number Eight?" Lucius said, sounding increasingly more worried with each passing suggestion.

On a lesser person, Narcissa's expression might have been termed a scowl. "Do be serious. You know we can't have _Harry Potter_ assassinated. Nor neutered, before you suggest it. It just won't work. We'd be the first suspects if anything should happen to Potter so soon after he and Draco have gone public with their relationship. Also, more importantly, Draco actually might not forgive us."

"He's _that_ serious about this lunacy?"

Narcissa replied, "I'm afraid it seems so. There's really only one thing to be done from here."

Lucius, with ever-growing dread, said, "You can't mean... we're not falling back on Emergency Parenting Plan Number _Nine_?"

Unfortunately, Narcissa rather thought they'd have to. After all these years of separating out the childish tantrums from the real points of contention, Narcissa knew how to tell when Draco was properly determined about something. Subsequently, she knew that Potter wasn't just a phase to him. Draco wasn't going to wake up one day and wonder what he could possibly have been thinking; not when he'd obviously been chasing the boy for _years_, whether he'd realised it or not.

"Yes. Number Nine," she confirmed. "We'll just have to salvage what we can from there."

Lucius shook his head. "I suppose we will."

Their expressions were so miserable at the prospect that any outsider might have inferred they'd received news of a tragic death in the family, rather than that they'd just mutually voiced their agreement to simply let Draco do as he liked, without either of them interfering.

Well, without them interfering _much_. Emergency Parenting Plan Number Nine didn't explicitly preclude the taking of certain measures. There were ways to minimise the inevitable fallout.

If there was to be no permanently getting rid of him, then Narcissa was just going to have to refashion Potter into something minimally presentable, at least enough so that he wouldn't be _too_ much of a constant embarrassment to the Malfoy name once he inevitably joined the family.

She supposed she could work with the wizarding world's insistence on adoring Potter for something as ridiculous as repeatedly _not dying_. There might be a reasonable addition to the family hidden in there somewhere, under the bumbling Gryffindor Muggle-lover of a boy. Narcissa only needed to venture deep enough.

Though recalling that bird's nest of his hair, and even more worryingly flashing back to the worn hole she'd earlier spotted in the toe of Potter's thoroughly Muggle shoe, Narcissa knew that she'd definitely have her work cut out for her.

Draco had just better count himself properly fortunate that his mother loved him enough to do absolutely _anything_ for him. Even this.

~FIN~


End file.
